The Turning Point
by gallowsCallibrator
Summary: This is the story of what happened that night in Godric's Hollow. Rated M for dark themes and language.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters.**

**A/N: This was written for darkblack03's challenge, "A Very Potter Challenge" where you were assigned a quote from the fan-made musical A Very Potter Musical or the sequel, A Very Potter Sequel and had to come up with a story revolving around that quote. Please review and DFTBA!**

The night was inky black like a raven's wing, the moon shining dimly in the sky. Only a handful of streetlamps lined the lonely little street in Godric's Hollow, many flickering on and off before ceasing to light again. Snow was swirling down from the heavens, covering the ground in a layer of white. The silvery moonlight outlined a single figure on the street: a tall man wearing a black cloak, the hood leaving his face in shadow as to not be seen or recognized by any passersby. The man moved at a slow but consistent pace down the lane, an indefinable air of regality and superiority about him. To any onlooker it would seem that this figure was one of importance, one that could cause both great fortune and great harm to those that he came across. And yet, being around him caused one's hands to tremble, shivers cascading down their spine. This was a man of unmistakable evil.

At last the figure stopped in front of one seemingly normal house. There was a merry glow emitting from the front-facing windows, and the house had an all-around air of invitingness to it. Upon closer inspection the man could see a warm scene inside: a tall and lanky man sprawled out on a worn-out couch, smiling warmly at a small boy who's mop of black and messy hair atop his head was identical to his father's. The little tike was racing around the living room on a small, toy broom that hovered to more than a foot above the ground. Nevertheless, the young boy was chortling happily as he zipped around the room in circles. In another chair was a young and extremely pretty woman. She had long red locks of hair and a fair complexion. She was laughing at her son's play, a sound that was lost on the other side of the windowpane where the hooded man stood. To any normal person the scene inside would've touched their heart. This man, however, was not a normal person.

He fingered the long wand made of elder tree within the sleeves of his robes with anticipation- he had been waiting for this night for ages, and now he would finally do it. At long last he would stop the prophecy made by a madwoman from ever coming true and protect his power from ever being threatened again. This was the turning point in the revolution he incited it, and he was going to make sure the deed was done thoroughly.

With a final smirk, he strode towards the front door and, without hesitation, he yelled "Confringo!" A jet of yellow light shot from the tip of his wand and the door burst down as if it was made of mere twigs. There was a flurry of yelling from the two parents inside the house. They had been suspecting an attack to come eventually, but not then.

"Lily, take Harry and get away!" the man yelled as he immediately jumped from the couch and reached for his wand perched on the table beside him. This time he spoke to the intruder, "What do you want from us? We have nothing you want!"

"But you do, James Potter." the hooded man disagreed. His voice was like the hiss of a thousand serpents, like he was speaking the dialect of the snake himself.

James finally got is wand in his hand and held it up, pointing it at the man's chest.

"Oh, you think you can fight me?" The man chuckled. "A blood traitor like yourself is as low as your mudblood little wife. There is no way that you could ever beat me, master of death, dark lord of all, Lord Voldemort."

"You… She is not a mudblood. Don't you ever call her that again or I will burn the heart out of you." James's eyes burned with an indescribable fury.

"Oh, I don't think that you'll succeed in attempting that, you lowlife. You sicken me." Voldemort paused for a moment and took time to lower the hood of his cloak, revealing a pale and serpentine face. In his head were two burning red eyes sunken into his skull. Then, as if having come to a lofty decision (although he had been planning out this night for months), he raised his wand towards James's chest and said, calmly bit firmly, "Avada Kedavera". A ray of green light shot from the tip of his wand and, like a bird falling from the sky, James slumped over and immediately fell down. To the man standing before the dead body it seemed almost comical. He chuckled a quiet, nearly musical laugh and whispered to himself, "It's like he wasn't even trying to stay alive." Voldemort kicked the body aside recklessly as he headed towards the stairs where Lily had run to with her son. James's body fell to the side easily and was left lying in an awkward angle, almost as if he had been a rag doll carelessly tossed to the side by a preoccupied child. Voldemort's wand arm tingled pleasantly from the fresh kill, a sensation that the Dark Lord hoped to repeat twice when he got to the second level of the house.

Slowly the serpentine man climbed the carpeted stairs, as if he wanted to savor the moment. When he arrived at the top of the stairs, he took a quick glance around. There were dozens of framed photographs adorning the beige walls- of weddings and smiling parents but most of all they were of the boy. Harry as an infant being held in his mother's arms, riding on the shoulders of his father, sleeping innocently in is white crib, holding onto a plush griffin. It made the pallid man nearly sick to see all of this family around him; a family, which he had no experience with because he had grown up an orphan- alone and disregarded. But no, the Dark Lord did not crave a family. The thought itself was preposterous. He was Supreme Ruler, Leader of All. He needn't a family: family would cause affection and to Voldemort, affection was a sign of weakness. And he wasn't weak, no; he was the most powerful of all. A family would just jeopardize all that he had accomplished. They would ruin him and his Death Eaters. So Voldemort didn't want a family and the idea of one sickened him.

A small cry came from a bedroom to the left and Voldemort slowly lifted his head, a smirk dancing on his thin lips. The mother and son's hiding place had been revealed and he slowly, purposefully, glided across the hall and pushed open the door that had been left ajar.

"I know you're here, no use in trying to hide from me." Voldemort announced to the room, yet no one replied. "Show yourself to me, silly girl. If you don't this instant, I'll do worse than kill you- I'll make you wish you were never born." Again, silence. "I said come out, stupid woman!" Voldemort roared and a jet of blue light shot from the wand, making the previously dark room illuminate from a ball of light hovering in the middle of the room. Every nook, every cranny, was lit up brightly and the Dark Lord could clearly see the young woman huddled under the bed, her son being held tightly in her arms. "I can see you, my dear, so come out and face me like a true Gryffindor."

Lily Potter knew that resistance was futile so she slowly, cautiously, crawled out from under the bed and stood up, still holding her son tenderly in her arms. "What do you want from us? How will hurting us increase your power?" Without taking her eyes from the Dark Lord's face she placed her son in a crib right behind her. She stood in front of him protectively, making sure to let the murderer come no where near her son.

"Oh, in ways that your tiny mind can't even fathom." Voldemort replied, a smirk still adorning his lips. "And it's not you that I'm trying to kill. It's that," he pointed at the small boy, "that I want dead. So if you just hand him over now, I will spare your life. I may even allow you to join my rakings among the Death Eaters. We can offer you riches and glory beyond your wildest dreams. So what do you say? Your son for the most power and galleons that you could ever dream of."

"Are you mad?" Lily asked incredulously. "There's no way that would happen."

"I see… Well, stand aside woman. Your son must die and I wouldn't want to hurt a pretty face like yours."

"No. Please, you can have me; just don't hurt my son. Please, I beg you." she said, staring into the sunken eyes of the murderer standing before her.

"I'm afraid that just won't do. I will kill you if I must, but I will get to your little runt eventually. Now you filthy little mudblood girl, get out of the way before you regret it."

"Over my dead body." she whispered.

"Well, if you insist." said Voldemort calmly. Then, as if suddenly summoning up a tremendous fury, he bellowed, "AVADA KEDAVERA!" Then, as if an afterthought, "Die, you stupid little bitch."

A scream, louder and more horrible than God's revolver, came from the woman as she sunk to the floor on her knees before falling to the ground all together. In the background the young toddler began to wail as if continuing his mother's scream, a sound that was of the utmost annoyance to Voldemort. He had no time to savor the tingling in his wand arm this time, as he finally was about to do what he came here to do. Now that both protectors were dead, there was nothing protecting the boy from destruction. This was the turning point that the entire fleet of Death Eaters had been anticipating for ages. The prophecy had read, "_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."_

This was the boy that was destined to defeat him. The one that a madwoman had predicted one night in a bar in Hogsmeade. And now, Voldemort had the power to change the prophecy, make sure that it never comes true.

Slowly the Dark Lord approached the crib, the intensity in the air growing rapidly. The small boy slowly began to quiet down, now just peering inquisitively at the dark man approaching his cradle. This man was a stranger to him. He had a strange face and when he was speaking with mother his voice sounded mean and angry. And why was his mother lying on the ground? Harry expected her to pop right up any second, laughing and smiling and then the strange man would take off his mask and really be his father, laughing happily along with his mother. He was only a child; of course he didn't realize that his mother was dead and the dark man in front of him was not his father at all, but in fact a source of so much pain and sadness that couldn't even be comprehended by the mind of a most adults, much less that of a toddler.

Voldemort took out his wand of elder for the third time that night and raised it at the small boy in front of him. "You've been such a source of pain, of anguish, you have no idea how much trouble you've caused me. You're just an idiotic little squib, I bet. Any life of yours isn't worth living so really; I'm doing you a favor by killing you right now. It will cause me so much less trouble and you'd just be a burden to those around you if your existence continued. Goodbye, Harry Potter. It's been a pleasure harming you." And with a final smirk Voldemort whispered "Avada Kedavera".

For the third time that night a jet of green light emitted from the tip of his wand but this time, something was different. Voldemort clearly saw the light hit Harry in the forehead but somehow it didn't kill him. Instead, it seemed somehow to bounce back. The beam of green hit the Dark lord in the chest and he faltered back. "You little runt, how did this happen?" But of course Harry didn't answer because he couldn't talk and even if he could, he'd be to preoccupied by the fact that the man in front of him seemed to be melting away. Voldemort noticed this too. His fingertips seemed to be crumbling away and the dust was flying away in every direction. Then his arms began to crumble as well and then his feet until all of him had turned to dust except for his head.

"You stupid child, what have you done?" Voldemort screamed. Then his head turned to dust and all that was left was a pile of robes and the wand of the elder tree.

Voldemort had been correct, in a way. That night had been the turning point for the revolution but not in the way he had imagined. Instead of destroying the prophecy and killing the child as planned, he had been turned to dust by some unknown force and blown away into the night air, scattering all over the globe. Instead, a toddler had defeated him. And that was the last they had heard of Voldemort for many years. That night in Godric's Hollow had been that of death and sadness but the one ray of light that shone through all the bleak misery and despair was that the Dark Lord had been conquered. And for the time, the problem had been solved. Light had triumphed over Dark and all was well.


End file.
